


Wolfsbane Moonlighting

by derekstilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teen Wolf AU, Wolf Derek, Wolfsbane, sterek, sterek au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derekstilinski/pseuds/derekstilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds a badly injured wolf deep in the woods. Thanks to all those times Stiles had to cover for Scott in the animal clinic he knows a thing or two about treating wild animals. He also knows he should probably call somebody for help. Against better judgment he approaches the animal. The wolf is distrustful and Stiles is scared he might attack him - god knows wolf’s eyes shouldn't be that blue - but day after day of Stiles’ patient treatment and ceaseless but (hopefully) soothing chatter, a weird friendship is born. Unfortunately, the wolf’s condition worsens and Stiles is desperate enough to take him to the clinic. Only then he discovers it’s not a wolf at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolfsbane Moonlighting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nashirah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/gifts).



_made for[this](http://derekstilinski.tumblr.com/post/50667090952/teen-wolf-sterek-au-stiles-finds-a-badly)._

\--

Crunching leaves under his feet, the smell of trees in the Autumn air. Clouds grumpy with rain just waiting to fall. Stiles likes these days. It's when he feels calm, even if it means skipping fourth period. This is a place where he can be alone.

Or so he thinks.

Rustling of trees, the occasional trip because Stiles is all teenage flailing limbs, and a hurt whimper about five feet to the left of him. It's a horrid sound, one of pure agony, a cry for help that it's trying to keep quiet. Stiles leans down to see, and what peeks out at him are a pair of the brightest blue eyes he's ever seen. The 'it' with the hurt whimper, is a wolf. Black fur, matted up with twigs and leaves and - oh my god, is that blood?

He should call someone. Animal rescue... Scott's boss, the vet of Beacon Hills... Maybe his Dad? He contemplates it all while staring into those round blue eyes.

He ends up going to take a closer look - maybe he can help, you never know. He's covered for Scott at the animal clinic enough times to learn some useful things about treating animals, domestic or... not. And this wolf definitely isn't anyone's pet. It growls at him when he takes a step closer and it makes him momentarily back off. This is a distressed animal, who, for all Stiles knows, will attack if he gets any closer. But there's a pool of blood and something about this wolf's eyes that makes Stiles go against what his mind is telling him.

"Don't worry," He says, hands out, inching his way closer, "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help. Okay, dude?"

The wolf watches him closely, watching for any danger or sudden movement. Stiles gives him a soft smile, fingertips touching to his fur. The wolf sniffs at him then looks up at him. Stiles thinks his eyes might be glowing, they should not be that crystal blue.

"Hey, see? Not that bad... Let's check out what's got you down, alright?" He carefully moves the brush and branches aside but can't see past all the muddy, blood-soaked fur. "Uh... Okay. Okay, let's get you up. Get this stopping. It'll be fine... I hope."

Stiles sheds his jacket, then his flannel cover. The wolf snarls in pain when he puts the flannel on the site of the blood spill, which makes Stiles jump, but not run for his life. He gives an apology - twice - and then looks the animal in the eyes, talking again because it's the only way he knows how to do indefinitely, "Okay. I'm gonna take you somewhere where you can get better." He pats the wolf's head, accidentally smearing blood on him, "Oops."

He stands and gets his jacket ready to become a transport vessel for the injured animal, when it gets up slowly, hobbling. Stiles looks after it, mouth open, "You're gonna hurt yourself. Dude, come on." He sighs and gets up, following it carefully.

The wolf starts to shake, things becoming more twitchy in the way it moves. It starts whimpering, trying to force itself to keep going forward. But the fatigue gets to it and it falls, not being able to catch itself. It whimpers and whines pitifully.

Stiles kneels down and pets it softly, "Shh, shh. It's alright." It tries to get up again and Stiles wraps it in his jacket, scooping him up - against his better judgement yet again - like a baby. This thing could rip his face off.

But the wolf only growls then settles down, letting Stiles get him safely in the passenger side of his Jeep. He hops in and starts it up, startling the wolf in the process. He sets a hand on his head in apology. Then he's turning the heat on and making the drive to home while he worries about the wolf bleeding to death on his seats.

He's not really sure why he wants to help a deadly predator, but Stiles has always had a thing for animals. A real soft spot, seeing as his mother used to tell him stories about wolves and magic and her own twists on fairy tales at bedtime. Little Red being friends with the wolf, that he wasn't so big and bad after all. She used to bring animals home all the time; birds with hurt wings, a stray dog, seven malnourished kittens, a groundhog that one time. And Stiles can't forget that time with the duck in the bathtub.

When she got sick, she started taking animals in less and less, until he didn't see them anymore. She told him more stories to make up for it, though. So many more. And in return he cut off all his hair to be just like her, and made up his own stories to tell her when she was quiet and sleepy. His were never as good as the one where the wolves washed their hands before they ate at the dinner table.

Stiles pulls up at home and the wolf looks tired, less like it's going to attack him. Which is good, sort of. He goes around and lets the wolf sniff his hand before carefully hauling him up into his arms again. The wolf lets out a broken whine, wiggling a little but Stiles gets him upstairs without too much of a fuss. The bathroom seems a good place to start, so he lays it down in the bathtub and starts up the sink, pulling out first aid kits, towels, whatever he can think of that may help.

In this light, he can see how even more damaged the wolf is, how dirty and bloody it is. It makes him wince. He carefully removes his jacket from under the animal, then unties his cover, now soaked with blood. The wolf lays its head down and whines.

After about an hour - what feels more like two - Stiles has the wolf cleaned up and patched up. There's blood and fur washing down the drain as he wipes a wet cloth carefully around the wolf's face.

"See, wasn't so bad, right?" He sets the cloth aside and grabs a clean towel, wrapping the wolf in it before he gingerly picks him up. He lays him carefully onto his bed and scratches softly at his ear, "You're probably hungry as hell. You want some food?" The wolf's ears perk up comically and Stiles laughs, nodding, "Right, right. I'll be back."

He makes sandwiches for himself and takes the chicken from last night out, cutting off parts and putting them in a bowl. He takes it all back up, letting the wolf sniff his hand again before sitting on the bed with him. Stiles sets the chicken in front of him, watching him inspect it before eating like he hasn't in days. And really, with a wound like that, he probably hasn't. Which makes Stiles wonder why this wolf, this natural born predator, didn't attack the only potential food source when it knelt down to help him.

Stiles gets so lost in thought, he doesn't realize the wolf is snatching a sandwich out of his hand until it's covered in wolf slobber. It just sort of takes it from him and starts eating it like lettuce and tomato are something of its regular diet.

"Dude, really?" Stiles looks at him, watching it chew and swallow and look up at him with those big eyes. He sighs and takes a bite of the other sandwich, "...Just eat."

\--

When Stiles' father gets home from work early that morning, he goes and checks on his son. Stiles is laying on his back, spread out over the covers, laptop still playing something from its spot next to him. What surprises him is the big wolf laying between Stiles' feet. He's cautious at first but the wolf lowers his head, getting comfortable for sleep again. Sheriff Stilinski walks in and rights his kid's laptop, then fixes his head from the horrible angle his neck is at, kissing him on the forehead.

"Just like your mother, I swear." He whispers, warm memories of taking in temporary 'pets' until they got better coming to the front of his mind, "Just be careful, kid."

\--

Stiles wakes to a clattering of ceramic. When he looks, the wolf is down on the floor, eating from a bowl his father must have left out. He sees the wolf has soaked through the bandage and just like that, he's up, all thoughts of more sleep going out the window.

"Aw, damn." He flails his way out of bed and crouches next to the animal. It looks alarmed at his sudden outburst. "You're bleeding again." He says automatically. Even if it can't understand him, he still feels the need to talk to it.

He stumbles into the bathroom and grabs more supplies, coming back to the wolf's glowing eyes, more than they were before.

"Maybe it's a sign you're getting worse... Glazed, reflective eyes?" Stiles starts in on replacing the bandage, black oozing out of it, "You need drugs."

The wolf whines in agreement.

Ten minutes later, he's calling Scott on a Saturday morning to see if he can pick up some things from his work.

\--

Stiles looks over the pain and anti-infection meds Scott's brought over, looking back up to his best friend's concerned face, "Thanks, man. This will help out a lot."

"So, you just found a wolf in the middle of the woods, bleeding out, and you decided to just cradle him and take him home?" Scott understands, he can see it in his face, the little quirk up of his lips. Scott would do the same thing.

"It just... It was the eyes that got me."

"The eyes?"

"Yeah. They were kind... And I thought they were glowing," Stiles shrugs, "But thanks again for this stuff. I gotta get back to him."

"Okay. I'll call to check in later. Be really careful, okay? It's still a wild animal." Scott always worries about his safety, but he pats his arm and tells him he'll be fine. Stiles jogs back up, seeing the expectant eyes of the wolf.

"Scott brought some good stuff. You'll be fine." He tells it, sitting down on the floor with it. He sets the medicines out in a line, opening the prepackaged needle, "I've done this before, don't worry. I'm pretty awesome, if I do say so. We'll get you on some meds, and we got some deer meat now, I checked. Do you like deer?"

The wolf makes a soft noise and Stiles nods, "Good. Awesome." He gives the wolf a shot of pain medicine, petting its head, "You'll be okay. Don't worry... You don't have a name. I wish you had a name."

The wolf whines softly and pushes his head more into Stiles' hand.

By dinner time, Stiles has given the wolf more medication, which seems to be helping a little. Stiles actually has to feed it, since it looks so tired. And he odd thing is, it doesn't object. It even licks his hand in thanks and then lays on Stiles' pillow and sleeps until Stiles is long asleep as well.

\--

Stiles wakes up around eleven at night, to the sounds of scratching and whining. He looks over, the wolf in the light of the moon streaming through the window. It's scratching at the window and Stiles sighs, hauling himself out of bed.

"Okay, okay... We can go outside." The wolf looks up at him expectantly and Stiles lifts him into his arms, "You're getting way too used to this."

He thinks he can hear the wolf laugh.

Stiles gets him outside and sets him down on the front lawn with care. The wolf looks at him gratefully before staring up at the full moon. And then...

A howl.

The sound brings Stiles to his knees. Something so deep and soulful. Beautiful. The wolf's head tipped back, singing and sounding at the moon. Stiles pulls his knees to his chest and watches it all, the gracefulness of this wolf. Stiles thinks, just maybe, he can hear others echoing back, a chorus of beautiful noise, billowing out into the night.

"You have a family out there." Stiles says quietly and the wolf settles down, laying next to Stiles in full bask of the moonlight. It lays its head on Stiles' bare foot and lets out a sigh. Stiles strokes his fur, "We'll get you back to them. I promise."

\--

"Okay, so this stuff is supposed to be really good. I looked it up online and Scott said it should make you feel better in no time." Stiles chatters softly, trying to reassure the wolf. Its been starting to hack up stuff, Stiles thinks it could be blood. It's scaring him, honestly. The wolf's eyes look a little less bright.

He gives the wolf the syringe then kisses its head, wishing he had magic healing hands. Animals never got this bad with his mom. He takes a deep breath when the wolf coughs again.

"How about I tell you a story? My mom's story, really... But she's not around to tell it. You'd probably be all better by now if it was her." Stiles shakes his head, wrapping the animal in a blanket as it begins to shiver. He starts to tell the story about the wolves who danced in moonlight and ate at the dinner table. The wolf keeps whining softly, shaking and looking so sick, more than before. He doesn't get halfway through the story before he's terrified the wolf is going to die right here in his bed.

"Oh, God. Okay. I thought I could do this but I can't. I'm gonna take you to the clinic, you need a real doctor, not some stupid seventeen year old." He staggers up and grabs his phone, calling Deaton's animal clinic while he stumbles around, trying to find another blanket and a water bottle and to pack it all up with the pillow the wolf's been using from Stiles' bed, "Hi, Dr. Deaton. It's Stiles, Scott's friend? He probably told you about the wolf that I've been trying to nurse back to health a-and... He's just getting worse. He's coughing up this dark bloody stuff and shaking. I don't know what to do, I-I'm scared."

Deaton tells him to bring the animal in immediately and he nods, hanging up. He hears the wolf cry out and it doesn't sound right. He's running back to his room before he even realizes it, and stops short at what he sees.

There's a man on the floor of his bedroom. A big guy, honestly. Muscles toned, strong, tanned skin all over. And Stiles means _all over_. The guy is naked on his floor, covered by a thin line of blanket that's hanging draped from the bed.

Stiles is not freaking out. He's got more bizarre dreams than that, for sure.

"It was a wolfsbane bullet," the guy says with a strangled voice, all dry and scratchy. And Stiles is not freaking out. The guy's eyes burn with the same cobalt the wolf's had, looking up at him, very round, "Please, help me."

Stiles is down by his side almost immediately, taking a hold of his shoulders, trying to help him up. He's incredibly pale, sweating with a horrid fever, and shaking so bad his teeth are chattering. He grabs onto Stiles' shirt, "Y-You need to--" His face drains of any color he had left and he spits out some blood, then collapses onto Stiles.

Stiles is  _not_  freaking out. He can't. Even though he can feel the dead weight of this guy - which, apparently, is-- no, no,  _was_  his wolf. A wolf that transforms into a man. A wolfman, then. Alright. Still not freaking out. And then he smells the nausea-inducing stench of the metallic tang of blood and the rot of decay.

This is so not okay.

This is two boats, an overpriced taxi ride and hike to the top of a cliff you want to throw yourself over, from okay.

He pulls his wolfman's head up and touches his cheek, watching the way his eyes flutter open like the fatigue is too much. And it probably is. He shakes his head a little bit, "Hey, hey, look at me, buddy. You're gonna be okay, totally okay. I'm taking you to the hospital... U-Um, okay. Alright, stop growling at me, no hospitals."

"Deaton," the guy gasps, "Take me to his clinic."

Stiles doesn't even question why he wants to go there, or even how in the holy hell he knows who Deaton even is, just wraps him in the sheet - and gasps at the severely infected and draining blood bullet wound - and helps him all the way to his Jeep, and into it.

He's shoving the ends of the bloody sheet in his car and trying to close the passenger door when there's a hand wrapping around his wrist, the guy's hand big enough to clasp all the way around his wrist and have his shaking fingers touching.

The guy pulls him closer, struggling to breathe, eyes pulsing weakly with that electric blue. Stiles touches his hand, "What is it, dude?"

"Derek. My name, I-I have one. My name's Derek."

That pulls a shaky smile onto Stiles' lips, "Don't die on me, Derek."

Derek nods and Stiles clambers into the driver's side of the Jeep, speeding off illegally - what's another arrest? - down the road.

He's going seventy in a thirty zone, there's a naked, dying  _werewolf_  in his passenger seat...

"I'm freaking out!" Stiles shouts when he pulls Derek into Deaton's office. The doctor springs up, looking with wide eyes at the state of them. Which, for all it's worth, is probably horrific. Stiles' shirt covered in Derek's blood throw up, the hip of his jeans soaking up the blood from Derek's truly disgusting wound. And Derek, well... Yeah, Derek.

Deaton takes Derek from Stiles' embrace, pulling him into the operating room. Stiles follows, realizing then he's holding the sheet Derek was wearing like the Greek god he looks like. Deaton's got him on the table, already working on him, Derek muttering about some kind of yellow-fever wolf-something that made him 'shift' and made him weak and unable to go back.

"You would have died if Stiles here hadn't kept you going," Deaton tells him, shooting something into his veins then jogging to his shelves and grabbing an old wooden case.

"H-He put me in the moonlight last night." Derek says and Stiles can hear the fondness through the slurring.

"And that's what kept you alive," Deaton gives Stiles a smile and opens his case, glass jars with engravings on them clinking, "This will hurt, I must warn you."

Derek looks worried, eyes round and fearful and Stiles' heart pounds, so attached to him, wanting to make him better. Derek's head suddenly turns to look at him, hand twitching to reach out for him.

"Stiles?" He says softly, an invitation. Stiles comes over and takes his hand. Derek looks back to Deaton, jar in hand, some mustard yellow colored powder inside it, "Just do it."

Deaton looks to both of them for a few moments, something mischievous about it. He pours a small amount onto the table, "Stiles, wouldn't you happen to have a lighter, would you?"

"A light--?" Stiles digs into his pockets.

"Back right pocket next to your Adderall and weed. I want some, by the way." Derek says with amusement even if he's losing massive amounts of blood.

"You live through this and I'll shotgun with you if you want." Stiles tells him automatically, fishing the lighter out and handing it over to Deaton. He's shaking when he grabs Derek's hand again.

"Looking forward to it." Derek grins and then his face turns to pure agony. Deaton's lit the yellow stuff - which Stiles is guessing is wolfsbane, hopefully a good offense to the stuff that's killing him - and set the ashes of it to Derek's wound.

Derek screams, letting go of Stiles' hand - for good reason too, seeing as his hands leave dents in the stainless steel table when he grabs at them. He starts to wriggle and writhe on the table, convulsing and Stiles puts his hands on his shoulders, Deaton holding his head so he doesn't snap his neck.

Fangs extend from Derek's gums, eyes that lovely glow. He screams again, head thrown back, making a dent in the metal. Stiles can hear the howl of his wolf when he does. Then Derek stops, relaxes, totally spent. His eyes fade back to a normal - and yet equally beautiful - blue-hazel mix and then his eyelids close, teeth reverting back to normal like they were never there. His head falls to the side like he's sleeping.

Stiles momentarily panics, "I-Is he...?"

Deaton sets a calming hand on his shoulder, "He's exhausted. He'll need a few hours to fully heal, sleep a bit. But he'll be just fine, Stiles... Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." Stiles says, pushing Derek's sweaty, jet black hair away from his forehead. Derek stirs a little.

"You've just saved someone's life." Deaton tells him with a proud note to his voice.

Stiles just nods to that, "What is he?"

Derek breathes slowly, swallowing, "R...Remember when you were telling me about the wolves who ate at the dinner table?"

"Of course."

"I eat at dinner tables," He says and Stiles smiles, "Tell me the rest? About Red and the Wolf at Grandma's?"

And Stiles does. Up until Derek falls into a deep sleep. Deaton tells him to go home, that Derek will be fine. He can come back tomorrow and see him if he likes.

\--

Right after his Dad leaves for his fishing trip, Stiles grabs the bag he'd packed, filled with clothes, because even though Stiles likes Derek wrapped up in his Star Wars sheets, he should really have some jeans on.

Stiles goes back to Deaton's clinic, walks in since the door's open. He runs in to the good doctor as he's leaving, "Stiles. Back so soon?"

For some reason, Stiles blushes, "Just wanted to make sure he's okay."

"Yes, of course." Deaton nods, "I'm heading out to check on a Doberman with the sniffles. I'll be back later."

Stiles nods and watches him leave. He walks into the clinic slowly, not knowing how he'll find his wolfman. Is he all better? Still recovering? Shifted back to his animal state?

"Came back to check on me?" Derek's voice rings out, sounding healthy, maybe even a little flirtatious.

"Well, I thought since you're not covered in fur anymore, you could use some..." He rounds the corner, seeing Derek in black, tight jeans and sneakers, "...Clothes."

Derek smiles at him, "Your clothes?"

"Well, my clothes are the only clothes I own." Stiles drops the bag by the doorway, hands sliding into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.

Derek chuckles softly and crouches down next to the table, inspecting the dent his head made. He holds the underside of the table and pushes, metal bending back like plastic. Stiles notices the sides where his hands held are fixed, if a little bumpy.

"So," He says, standing up, going over to a nearby counter and grabbing a faded purple t-shirt. He slips it on over his head and Stiles may drool at how the muscles in his torso ripple, "How are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Stiles looks up to his face as he shrugs on a black leather jacket that was laying next to none other than Stiles' pillow. He must have gotten it out of the bag Stiles left and slept with it last night. Looks like the favorite blanket of the wolf is folded nice and neat just under it.

"You carried a predator out of the woods and nursed it for days, then it sudden;y turns into this guy you've never seen before."

"Yeah, that happened."

Derek grins, "I could have killed you, and you knew that." He rounds the table, coming closer to Stiles, "But you still did everything in your power to save me, even after I turned back," Stiles nods. "I'm a werewolf. I could crush you easily, like I did the table."

Stiles nods again, "Oh, yeah. Totally. Although, you could've attacked me in the woods when I got all up in your personal space. But you didn't. You let me help you, and feed you, and carry you around."

A small blush creeps onto Derek's cheeks. It's so good to see color there now. He's completely healed, completely better. "So, you're okay with this?"

"With what?"

"Me, a supernatural creature, asking you out on a date."

Stiles grins, "What if I refused?"

"I'd follow you until you said yes."

"And if I ran away?"

"I'd swoop you up and ask you again."

"If I thought this was some kind of a pity way to say thank you?"

"Well, I'd kiss you." And then he smiles at Stiles' reaction, "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You don't even have to answer, your heart is for you."

Stiles licks his lips and smiles, "Yeah. A-A date sounds nice."

Derek swoops down the few inches that separate them, stopping just short of Stiles' lips, "How does... Dancing in the moonlight sound to you?"

Stiles snorts and brings a hand up, scratching behind Derek's ear. Derek chuckles and closes the inch between them, letting Stiles hold his face and dig softly against his week old stubble. He claims Stiles' lips, this seventeen year old guy who smells sweeter than anything Derek has ever known, holds his cheeks in his hands and teases his tongue over his already parted lips, noses bumping and Stiles' heart beating faster.

Stiles pulls away suddenly, a feigned scolding look on his face, "What did I say about no growling?"

Derek hadn't even realized he was. He blushes again, smiling, "Sorry."

"No, I just..." Stiles chuckles, "Wish I was wearing red."

Derek's eyes spark up cobalt again and Stiles' heart  _pounds_. Derek settles them down and chuckles, "Come on, I'm pretty sure I owe you a sandwich."

"Yeah, what was that about?" Stiles asks as they walk outside, Derek's hand finding his.

"You make a good BLT."

And then Stiles has to stop and laugh because there's a werewolf who's health and nutrition conscious. This is what Stiles gets into when he skips fourth period.


End file.
